Quotes About Mystery

What song the Sirens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.

The night of time far surpasseth the day, and who knows when was the equinox?

As for those wingy mysteries in divinity, and airy subtleties in religion, which have unhinged the brains of better heads, they never stretched the pia mater of mine.

When we desire to confine our words, we commonly say they are spoken under the rose.

I love to lose myself in a mystery, to pursue my Reason to an O altitudo!

and then the threw the sword as far into the water as he might; and there came an arm and a hand above the water and met it, and caught it, and so shook it thrice and brandished, and then vanished away the hand with the sword in the water.

Cats are mysterious kind of folk - there is more passing in their minds than we are aware of.

You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of your complicated state of mind,The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a transcendental kind.And everyone will say,As you walk your mystic way,"If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me,Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must be!"

When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon,Then is the specters' holiday—then is the ghosts' high noon!

Francesca da Rimini, miminy, piminy,Je-ne-sais-quoi young man!

I'm called Little Buttercup—dear little Buttercup, Though I could never tell why.

Being alive is inexplicable, I thought. Consciousness itself is inexplicable. There is nothing ordinary in the world.

The pleasure was in the staging, the idea of ourselves as a repetition of others. I knew this without saying it, felt my femininity as the game of all women, a mysterious identification in which I lost myself.

It's a language I've come to hate, because it admits no mystery and no ambiguity into its smug vocabulary, which arrogantly suggests that everything can be known.

It's a sorry little fact that we are often as mysterious to ourselves as we are to others.

Neither of these staring experiences was erotic for me, but they may have been for the two young men who did the staring. Who I was for either of them remains a mystery to me, a blank filled with my own dread.

Looking is part of love, but what you see when you look is anybody's guess.

The attraction remains because there is something about him that I can't reach, something strange and estranging. I like seeing him from a distance. I know that. I like to see him in a room full of people when he looks like a stranger, and then to remember that I do know him and that I will be going home with him.

She said 'I love you' as if it were a secret, and an immense one.

It's you my love, you who are the stranger.

Love is like moonlight or thunder, or rain on a tin roof in the middle of the night; it is one of those things in life that is truly worth knowing.

There is no way our little minds can comprehend the love of God. But that didn't keep him from coming.

When I reach to the edge of the universe, I do so knowing that along some paths of cosmic discovery, there are times when, at least for now, one must be content to love the questions themselves.

There are only three great puzzles in the world, the puzzle of love, the puzzle of death, and, between each of these and part of both of them, the puzzle of God. God is the greatest puzzle of all.